


The One That Got Away

by LadyTroll



Series: Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [2]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angus has no chill, Dark Fantasy, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Roleswap, You Have Been Warned, reversed Gloryhammer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 05:31:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTroll/pseuds/LadyTroll
Summary: Hi, evil overlord, uh, I mean Prince Angus! The thing is we're one body short, so how has your day been so far, PLEASE DON'T BEHEAD US.
Series: Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540978
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	The One That Got Away

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gloryhammer reverse!AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/534508) by foxwinterart on tumblr. 

> Expanded and added to [a scene I wrote earlier this autumn](https://uupiic.tumblr.com/post/188375873768)
> 
> Obviously, this is about the characters, in a reverse!AU at that, NOT the band itself.  
______________
> 
> Goes perfectly together with the ambient music from the Fallow Mire location from Dragon Age: Inquisition

Same as the outside of the castle, there was a noisy celebration going on in the grand hall on the first floor as well, both the Knights of Crail and the best of the king’s soldiers gathered to mark a successful end to their one-night campaign against the most fearsome enemy the majority of them had had the chance to encounter in their lives. With beer, ale and other assorted drinks flowing a-plenty and the long tables bending under the sheer weight of food piled on them, by the time their superiors made their way through the hall, most of the magnificent warriors were one out of three options available:

Asleep on the table right where they had been sitting the moment the realm of dreams won them over, sometimes right on it, sometimes using a dish as a pillow, occasionally with food still in it;

Also asleep, but _under_ the table they had been sitting at, occasionally in most ridiculously complicated poses that were bond to give them a trouble or two, came the next morning.

Or gathered around one of the long tables, with a bard in their midst, and yelling something that, in another case, could have been called a song – of course, only under the condition if it was not being done by a group of people who had never performed even a four-liner poem in front of their sweetheart, let alone a song for an audience.

Passing through the hall, Ser Proletius had a grimace on his face that encompassed both disdain and pity towards them, earning a friendly shove of an elbow in his side – more like ribs, actually – from the Hootsman.

\- This is not how _mighty warriors_ should act!

\- Let the lads have this night! – the barbarian snatched a jug of ale from the tray carried by one of the maids rushing to and from the large kitchens of the castle and scurrying among people in the hall and took a swig. – We did a major job, and we were damned good at it! We ought to celebrate!

\- Passing out or vomiting is not celebrating!

\- Yes, it is! You, mainlanders, just don’t know how to have fun!

\- You think the prince will be having fun when he hears what we have to say, barbarian? It’s our luck he hasn’t heard yet, what with these buffoons screeching all over the place! – Ser Proletius hissed, his voice down to an ominous whisper, trying to conceal some horrid truth people in the hall were already more or less aware of, but which he now had to deliver to His Royal Highness upstairs.

Their luck was that most of the soldiers and knights present in the castle were ones who had departed together with Prince Angus and thus had no knowledge of the turn of events that had had the Hootsman and Ser Proletius riding back to Dundee like all of the demons, the Fair Folk and even a part of the Wild Hunt were after them, first almost running their steeds to death in the process – of course, after Proletius had found himself another mount, as his unicorn (a precious gift, to top it all) had trotted away happily into the sunrise, which did not improve his mood much, but that was an issue he had no time to deal with at the moment – and afterwards threatening the poor, unwitting captain of the boat within inches of his life if they did not pick up speed.

Still, even if a few of the people downstairs already knew, that was no reason to share this information with everybody else. The news and, accordingly, rumours were going to spread quickly enough, but it was vital that both Prince Angus and Princess Iona were informed by a trusted source, rather than a talkative chambermaid.

The Hootsman paled in his face, before setting the jug on the table and pushing open a small oaken door that lead deeper into the castle and gesturing the Grand Master of Crail to proceed.

\- I say we should get over with it then, my friend.

***

On the top floor, where the racket coming from downstairs did not reach, there was dead silence. Anyone who would dare to crawl up here with the intention of celebrating right now, would most likely end up in the dungeons and living on stale bread and water. If they were lucky, that is. If unlucky, they might just fall to their early demise in an accident that involved observing the landscape.

Here, shadows ruled the hallways, and the occasional torch in the wall cast light in portraits and figures alike gained a spooky appearance. Hair stood up at the back of their necks as the barbarian and the knights proceeded through the corridor leading to the royal couple’s accommodations, and one just about expected something to leap at them from the shadowy corners, and both walkers unintentionally clutched the weapons at their side, their nerves already on the edge and just about tempting their minds to play tricks on them.

The door to the room was open, light protruding into the dark corridor outside like a small isle in a never-ending void. A small patch of a feeling of home, in the middle of an uncaring, dangerous world. A distant fire and the smell of wooden smoke in a dark forest at night.

Alas, appearances could be deceiving.

They had to stop, right outside the door, to spend a moment preparing themselves for what was to happen when they stepped inside the room. It was that moment the thought of how they should have practiced this a couple of times, before actually setting off on their quest crossed the mind of both Ser Proletius and the Hootsman.

\- So, - this time, it was the Hootsman whose voice went down to an ominous whisper, - who’s going to tell him?

\- You do, - not a single grimace betrayed just how disturbed and worried Ser Proletius was right now; years of training, both physical and mental, had left their mark on him, but they were definitely not enough to prepare him for what was to come, - he likes you better.

\- Yes, but your lads were responsible for the most bodies, so _you_ do it!

\- But you have brownie points as a mighty ally—

\- You know I can hear you both, don’t you?

The door flew open, and both men froze in their place for a second, shrinking under the gaze measuring them, before the Hootsman, followed close by Ser Proletius, stepped forwards and into the room filled with warmth.

A most regular room greeted them. Its walls, made of stone, were covered in tapestries where colours had faded with time and that were only kept around for the role of insulators to keep the cold out and the warmth in, and a soft rug covered the floor in the centre of the room. The stained glass in the single window must have looked amazing during daytime, but now that night had settled over the land only the intricately woven lead framework resembling a rearing equine gave away its true properties. There was a fireplace on the right side of the room and a couple of chairs in front of it, covered in sheepskins that just about invited one to take a seat and stretch their legs towards the warm, welcoming fire crackling away merrily in the firebox. A door on the right side of the fireplace lead deeper into the quarters, and both the knight and the barbarian praised whatever gods were looking after them, that the prince was here and they did not have to go knocking at the door of the bedroom instead. Four big wax candles in a large ornate iron candleholder illuminated the table on the left side of the room, a map spread out on the oaken surface. On the other side of the table, where one could easily and conveniently pick it up, should such need arise, there sat the Hammer of Glory in all of its morbid magnificence.

\- I take it you have something to report? – Prince Angus interrupted their observations, impatiently so, before the scene had had the chance to drag into an awkward silence.

It was late, he was tired after spending the last night and day awake without even the chance to remove his armour, because everybody always needed something from you as soon as you had barely stepped over the threshold of your own castle, and now there were these two barging in when he was already thinking about retiring for the night, because, for some gods-awful reason, they thought that their matters could not wait until the morning.

Needless to say, Ser Proletius and the Hootsman had picked the worst time to deliver unpleasant news.

_Might as well get over with it, then._

\- Well, - the King of Unst decided there and then to take one for the team; after all, an ally from a land not yet under the heel of Dundee had less to fear; his folk were the kind of people you wanted on _your_ side, not your enemy’s, - the soldiers have finished counting the fallen.

\- And?

\- And… we… we were able to recover a list of practitioners of magic living in Auchtermuchty. The Magistrate had strict rules, and everybody was accounted for with them. No way anyone could get past unnoticed.

He, of course, conveniently let out the fact that the scribes had mostly just ticked off a name on the list when the bodies were in… less than perfect condition… for the Hootsman feared, reciting the reasons for such neglect would make him lose what little food and ale he currently had in his stomach. Even the most battle-hardened of the knights had been spotted in inconspicuous places in the slums in the morning as the contents of their stomach stubbornly demanded to be released upon the sight and the stench of bodies half-burned or maimed so badly there were simply no means to recognize them by. Having hung around the city for longer than the prince did, both the Hootsman and Ser Proletius could recall both the sight and the smell as vividly as if they were still surrounded by the dead.

No need to put anyone, much less himself, through that again.

\- And? – the expression on McFife’s face betrayed annoyance beyond imaginable. Almost a Legendary annoyance that told them his patience was as thin as ice in the spring, and he would not hesitate to let his anger loose.

\- And… the thing is… - the Hootsman gulped, hoping to hold the gaze of steel as the green eyes bore into his, - the body count does not match. We’re one body short.

\- _What?_ \- the prince snarled, as he made a step closer. – Just so we are clear, you mean to tell me _somebody got away?_ Really?

Both men unintentionally cast a look at the corner where the Hammer rested peacefully against the wall, the sigil on its side appearing to move in the trembling light of the candles. Young as Angus McFife might be, last night they had witnessed the unbridled violence this body contained, and both the barbarian and the knight were well aware he would not hesitate to lash out on his own people as well.

Human lives no longer held a meaning to the Prince of Fife, if they ever had.

\- Dear husband, perhaps we ought to let our esteemed ally finish? 

Neither Ser Proletius nor the Hootsman had noticed when exactly had Princess Iona entered the room – or perhaps she had been there all along, hidden in the shadows that danced on the walls – but there she sat, at the fireplace, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her long, light blue dress was embroidered with a gossamer silver thread weaving most intricate patterns into the silk, and thin iridescent mother of pearl beads, each the size of a fish scale, covered her chest and shoulders like scales of purest ice – a contrast to her husband’s leather armour with the lively green tint. She had a presence about her – the presence of a person who had the power to destroy their opponents at the slightest whim and who knew it – and when she graced the two visitors with a smile, it was as beautiful as it was cold and calculated to the last, most miniscule detail.

Her presence did, however, also dwindle her husband’s anger, for, when she finished speaking, there was no longer the threat of a sudden and much less than epic death for both of their allies on Angus’ face.

\- The body count does not match up with the lists, - the barbarian repeated, him and Proletius both having gone pale, - we checked three times.

\- Then check _again!_

\- There is no reason for us to deny that somebody got away, - the Grand Master of Crail found his voice. – Some stupid peasant got himself right into the middle of the fray and got accounted for as if he was one of the wizards.

\- Then search the damned city! - the prince spat, like a furious animal whose lair they had entered by mistake. – Top to bottom! Tear the place apart, brick by lousy brick, if you must! Find them!

\- Search parties are already being formed as we speak. We’ll find and deal with them. Auchtermuchty is abuzz right now. I have stationed a portion of my men there, both to search for the fugitive and just in case the peasants got stupid ideas. Even if the wizard can slip past regular soldiers, they will not be able to hide from the Knights of Crail. As soon as we have dealt with them, you will be informed.

\- No, - Angus turned to look at the window, hands behind his back, his shoulders square, tense, back straight like the string of a bow, - you will bring them to me. I want to see this one, in person.

Ser Proletius and the Hootsman exchanged looks. One thing – a thing they and the Knights of Crail were, as they had discovered last night, magnificent at – was dealing with a wizard right there and then. Once you had put a sword through their stomach, or taken an axe to their back, not even the greatest wizard in existence could charm themselves a new life, at least not in time before the old one had left them. A completely different thing was to capture them alive and then somehow transport this fiend to another destination without fearing the cart was suddenly going to turn into wooden projectiles killing everyone in five meter radius, while the rest of the convoy were turned into piles of ash for the wind to distribute onto the nearest farmer’s field as organic, free-range fertilizer. The first option meant people got to live. The second meant less than fun times for everybody involved and the possibility of more than one family receiving a message saying their son had died in the line of duty – and a load of paperwork, not to mention dealing with said family afterwards.

\- My prince, I don’t think this is a—

\- Was I somehow not clear? – the Prince of Fife spun around, to glare at the barbarian, and the Hootsman shut up at once, not even noticing himself how his shoulders dropped at once, turning him into a meek image of himself.

\- You were, - there was an odd squeak in the barbarian’s voice.

\- Oh, was I? _What_ are you supposed to do, _again?_

\- We will find the wizard, - Ser Proletius picked up where the barbarian had left, fighting best he could, to keep _his own_ voice straight, hoping it was not going to turn into a squeal before he had finished, - and we will bring them to you, prince.

\- And don’t let me down, - Angus turned his back on them again, letting them know the conversation was over.

\- We won’t, - Ser Proletius gave a brief nod, his posture imitating that of the prince. – I wish you good night, prince. Princess Iona, - the Grand Master of Crail added, turning to look at the woman seated at the fireplace, giving her a reverent greeting as well.

The Hootsman went for no words and a deeper bow, one fist on his chest, before he followed Proletius out of the room. When the door had closed and their steps faded into distance, Iona rose from her seat and crossed the room, her dress the only thing to make a sound as the expensive fabric dragged first across the floor, then the rug.

\- We’ll find them, - soft hands rested on Angus’ shoulders, the whisper in his ear soothing his anger. – Worry not, my love. It’s just one wizard.

\- Imagine how powerful they must be, to evade being noticed! – Angus clenched his fists, his shoulders trembling with anger. – I want to meet whoever it is to dare poison my victory. I want them to kneel and swear eternal loyalty to me, and, if they don’t, I want to look them in the eye, before I kill them myself.

\- They cannot keep avoiding the Knights of Crail forever, - one of the hands travelled up, and the prince leant into the warm touch, his shoulders relaxing. – Let Ser Proletius’ men hunt them down. _You_ have more important matters to worry about.

**Author's Note:**

> Iona can either save you, or doom you, and I am not sure what she might choose at any given moment.


End file.
